Champion's Burden
by phyreblade
Summary: Garrett Hawke is hard-pressed, angry a lot of the time. Why is he always pulled to act for everyone else? Who takes care of him, rather? My interpretation of the Dragon Age 2 story, and cheers to the Bioware team who created it. M/Hawke with Fenris love interest. Rated M, of course.
1. Chapter 1 -- I'll Miss You

_She found him sitting alongside a spindly tree, set against the toadstool-infested pond that harbored a great many of the fish mother used in her creamiest stews. How Leandra managed to create such delicious concoctions, from ingredients scrounged through the ugliest dregs sometimes – well, it never ceased to amaze her, really._

_And Garrett was busily working to provide their mother with some more fish, it looked like. He sat there, with the line tossed haphazardly into the water as his hands manipulated the twine. He eyed her through the brightest blue eyes as she approached, turning his inky dark head towards her as she glided closer. "Sweetest brother. We'll eat well tonight, I assume."_

_Garrett looked away, staring down into the brown water. As if the mud below the surface was so much more interesting, she thought. He murmured, "Doesn't look good, I'm afraid. No bites." She fingered the briefest tendrils of his hair softly, just rubbing the strands between her pale fingers for some small moment. So soft, she thought._

_"I know you want to do better, Garrett. There's nothing more important to you, than providing for us all. Keeping us safe … secure. You'll find some fish. I know it. I believe in you."_

_Garrett leaned his head back, just enough to knock her fingers loose from his hair. He sighed as he considered the turning of the clouds in the sky overhead, the waxing of the sun towards the end of the day. It wouldn't be long before they both returned home, she imagined._

_Garrett dropped his head, turning sideways as he look over towards the back walls of those houses lining the old highway, with all its pale stone and arches. Like he was afraid to look at her, maybe. "You always did. Believe in me, that is. I'm truly sorry, Bethany. I know that doesn't mean much. Not here."_

_She frowned at him. "Of course it means much. It always means so much. But there's no need to be sorry. You can do as you want, here."_

_Garrett turned around to look at her, and she marveled at the beauty of his eyes. Blue, like a brilliant sky with just the palest wash of clouds moving through it. And full of the hardest knowing. Sorrow. And pain. "Goodbye. Bethany … I will miss you."_

_The demon spluttered, "No! I can give you … everything! No!"_

* * *

Garrett jerked awake, his eyes flying open into the darkness of the hold. The surface under him rolled again, and Garrett moaned slightly as his stomach roiled with cruel discomfort. But the harsh, muffled groan from nearby offended him even more and he twisted his head around, searching through the darkness.

Carver was curled into a mean-looking ball of distress, huddled on a sorry-assed looking pallet flung down onto the hard wood decking. He'd mashed himself against the wall in a desperate bid to keep his body as still as possible. But the effort seemed as failed as their escape from Lothering had been, and even in the dark Garrett could tell his baby brother was hurting badly.

Maker, but he hated this fucking boat!

At least their mother seemed to be handling the journey well enough. She was sleeping in the only excuse for a cot the tiny closet of space they'd been shoved into actually boasted. Leandra had protested the arrangement, of course. Their mother was always so coolly polite. Polished. Like the most elegant velvet, all burgundy richness.

Garrett had snorted when she tried giving the bed up to Carver. "He can handle the damn floor, mother. Better than you. Sleep, now." Carver didn't argue against him, either. Garrett might have been surprised, considering how Carver had butted heads with him repeatedly all the way up to the very docks there in Gwaren. He could barely manage to turn left instead of right without his brother insisting he was wrong!

Not that it mattered, though. There simply was no way either of Leandra's sons would tolerate her slender frame resting on the rough surface of the ship's floor, when there was a semi-comfortable cot sitting right there against the wall. No, they just planted themselves right down on the floor in a neat circle around her bed. Guarding, watchful as always.

As he should've for Bethany, Garrett thought. And he bit his lower lip against the now-familiar pain that consumed him for another long, terrible moment. He battled back the image of his young sister's pretty face, the startled expression on her features when the ogre snatched her up and swung her high over its head … Garrett moaned again, rolling over onto his hands and knees as he moved towards Carver. Because his sister was gone; he only had Carver to take care of now.

And he simply couldn't afford to get sick all over the floor. There wasn't any time for it, at the least. He wasn't particularly inclined to provide for his own needs, either. Not when _they_ were more important, more precious. Bad enough he'd failed them so much along the way, that they were so much strugging, hurting already. Whatever he could do, however much he could give - Garrett would not stop, nor falter a single step more!

To the damn Fade with anything that stood in his way, now!

Garrett reached Carver, then. His brother jumped into wakefulness, startled at first. But his eyes flew wide as he stared up at Garrett through the blackness. There were no colors, not in the dark. But Garrett make out the pale curve of Carver's eyes, knew they were the same incredible blue as his own. Just as he knew Carver's eyes would fill with bitterness and recrimination every time they focused on him, too. Carver blamed him, nearly as much as he blamed himself. Nearly.

Oh, Garrett liked the look in Carver's eyes. It was like being punished, like a flogging he endured with every glance and blink of his brother's eyes. Now he snatched at the sense again, and grunted, motioning to Carver to move. Carver tried shaking his head, "No … I can take care of myself! Damn it, Garrett!"

"Shut up. You'll wake mother. Now do as I say, Carver." The resentment almost literally consumed the space between them. That was familiar enough, too. Garrett ignored it, exactly as he did every time. He only went about doing what needed doing, and to flames with any protest his little brother wanted to give him.

Garrett settled himself behind Carver's frame, sliding his legs alongside both his brother's sides. Until Carver rested with his back pressed into Garrett's chest and the back of his head bumped Garrett's collarbone. Carver bit his lip to keep from spewing the mess he could feel in his stomach, moving, moving. If only the world would stay _still_ for just a little while. Then it wouldn't be necessary for his brother to help him, soothe and comfort him. Because the pain was ready and regular and damned enough. Carver didn't want to feel glad. Or worse, grateful to Garrett. Who he wanted to hate, wanted to.

Because hating someone was easier than hating himself.

Then Garrett's hand settled on top of Carver's belly, palm down. Warm and heavy, his fingers outstretched to cover as much of Carver's innards as possible. Carver could feel the wash of Garrett's breath over the top of his ear as his older brother hummed just once, and then the soft glow of light from Garrett's palm began filling the space. Carver gasped slightly, his hands flying up to cover Garrett's hand on his stomach before any strangers noticed the soft light that came from the healing, that glow of care and concern that seemed so much a part of his brother and so much different than the abrupt hard edge he showed the world so often.

It wasn't the first time Carver had wondered if Garrett's magic spoke more truths than his brother admitted, even to them. The warmth of the healing, that seemed so disparate, so much different than the cold abruptness of his mannerisms and character. Like Garrett showed all of them only a hard, bitter shell, and underneath it was someone who loved and cared and worried.

But then Carver would think, that Garrett wrapped himself in a shell like a lie. Like he had to hide himself from them, because he didn't trust, didn't believe they were as good and strong to take care the way he did. Like they were just as bad the Templars, and his nature was as secret as his magic. Did Garrett think he was nothing but an ugly ass of a Templar, then? Why couldn't he open up to Carver, share that much of himself? Wasn't Carver good enough a brother?

And that's how each brick in the wall of resentment Carver constructed took shape, one by one. Until the wall dividing the two brothers was a looming, terrible thing, and Carver couldn't see any way of jumping it or breaking it down. Then Carver reverted to bickering and sniping at Garrett, and Garrett pulled away even more. So there were more bricks. Like an endless circle, with no end in sight.

But for now they both only huddled together, there in the dark. Garrett's eyes were closed as he concentrated, his senses smoothing across the magic between them as he eased the distress to Carver's system. He encouraged the fluids beneath his hand to gentle, dissipate. Until the pain twisting Carver's guts into knots slowly quieted, slowly, slowly. Before it disappeared entirely. The healing glow softened and glittered only briefly before twinkling into nothing again. Then it was quiet, and Garrett felt all alone again.

Carver snuffled against Garrett's shoulder, and Garrett sighed when he felt the tease of dampness against the fabric of his shirt. Figures, that Carver would finally fall into sleep and leave his damn drool all over Garrett's clothes. No good deed went unpunished, at least. Garrett raised himself, pulling his legs back so that Carver slid down onto the pallet and Garrett was able to climb to his feet.

He glanced around, clicking his tongue towards Woden. The hound raised his large head to regard him with bright, intelligent eyes that glittered even through the dark. Woden panted sleepily enough. But he padded over to settle his large body onto the floor beside Leandra's cot. A wall of solid Mabari defense, between his mother and any damn fool that tried to threaten her. He grunted approvingly, as Woden laid his head down on both paws to watch Garrett climbing up the ladder into the open air above decks.

Garrett breathed deeply as he moved fast towards the ship's railing, stepping quietly enough the tread of his boots on the deck surface went virtually unnoticed. He was good at that, at moving fast through the shadows. If it weren't for the magic in his blood, he might have done good work as a bladed mercenary somewhere. Goodness knows, he'd always wanted something that simple for his life. Not to suffer the burden of magery, instead.

Now he moved quickly. He almost didn't make it. But then the splash of the waves against the ship's hull was all that covered the sound of his retching, and he hung there, limp and depleted against the rail as he panted through his mouth to ease the burning nausea. Then he watched the slide of the nighttime sky against the dark line of distant horizon, relaxed into the calmness of the late night time. Not his proudest moment, actually.

"Hawke."

Garrett turned his head to consider the ship's first mate, watched the man step out from beneath the shadows of snapping sails overhead. No uniform, not for the crewmen of some simple cargo vessel like this one. Not even when the cargo had turned into retching dregs of refugees, either. The ship's officer was dressed simply, in a linen shirt with a leathered jacket and boots. In the low light, his red hair, even, only barely shown. It looked brown there in the shadows.

Garrett felt his lips twist into a sardonic smile at being caught in so embarrasing a circumstance. He was probably green with illness right then, probably looked pitiable a creature. Right up there with sad little puppy dogs, with their great big eyes all round with misery. Garrett murmured, "I'm awful at this, Brand. Seriously. No one will _ever_ call me a sailor."

Branden stepped closer to him, until his lean hip was only barely shifting against Garrett's side. Garrett shivered delicately at the subtle promise, lowering his chin to better consider the turn of Branden's jaw, the curl of his neck into his shoulder. The first mate handed Garrett a flask, left him a moment to wash his mouth clean with some good, strong wine. Branden only barely smiled, "You'd get used to it. Only takes a little while. Practice keeping your feet under you, is all it takes."

Another promise, actually. Promise of a place, somewhere to stay for a time. But not one Garrett would ever think to accept, even if his stomach could handle the thought. He shook his dark head, closing his mind to every chance and possibility. Past the immediate, past this brief moment when he might forget how many people were counting on him. Just for a little while, at least. "Not everyone's designed for this sort of life, Branden. I have … responsibilities. And this damned boat of yours is too small!"

Branden chuckled. He lifted his fingers towards Garrett's face, ghosted a single touch along the dark lines of tattoo circling the younger man's neck before he trailed his fingers along Garret's jaw. He slid his hand towards the back of his head where he grabbed onto the fall of thick black hair, there. He held Garrett's head still, so that their gazes met, so that they connected and stayed so for a long moment. "Ah, Hawke. Not the first time someone's told me I needed a bigger … boat. But I'll show you what I mean, about standing tall and straight. How much a difference it can make. In the meantime, at least." Branden sighed, "So unfair, Hawke. So, so unfair."

Garrett smiled back, his face close enough to Branden's that he could feel the first mate's mint-flavored breath crossing his cheeks. Good man, that he chewed on some mint first. It showed some minute care, for only that much of Garrett's own comfort. And he drank it in, that brief pleasure, lost himself in it. If only for a little while, at least. "No apologies, though. Life's too damn unfair, to go around apologizing for it."

Branden agreed, right before his mouth swooped down to cover Garrett's own. "Indeed."

* * *

**Garrett Hawke is the hero character of "Dragon Age 2", created by Bioware and Electronic Arts. All characters and story are their property, and I make no claim to the story they told. They did an incredible job, and I am only grateful that I had the chance to experience it! Kudos, Bioware! I am beyond grateful you created such a remarkable story!**


	2. Chapter 2 -- Barrels of Beets

Aveline studied the broad line of Garrett's jaw, the way it cut up into the curl of dark hair just behind his ear. He was grinding his teeth again, of course. She sometimes pondered the chance Garrett would grind his teeth down into the merest nubs there in his mouth, rather than loose the incredible weight of obligation and responsibility he carried so simply. Owned it, like he didn't know any other way. Because he didn't, poor sod.

She sighed, turning her face towards the corner where the road shifted around one of the white-stoned buildings dotted with peeling plaster and splatters of shit and mud.

The merchants who gathered nearby the docks were hardly of the highest quality. But they offered decent goods, fresh from transport across the water. Much of it Fereldan these days, even. Now the Blight was finished, Fereldan tradesmen were scrambling to find quick markets for their goods, to recover from the damage done them by the hordes. From here, Aveline could see piles of turnips and several loads of good, hardy grain straight off one of the ships just recently pulled into harbor.

But the Marchers of the city tended to look down their long noses at those Fereldans who huddled in the corners, scrabbling for every job and every possible coin, and the merchants willing to sell Fereldan goods were left to hawk their wares in the seedier parts of the city, closer to where the Fereldans themselves looked to acquire them. Which was precisely why Garrett had ventured down to the docks today, looking for beets, of all things. It seems Leandra enjoyed the nasty vegetable and her son was intent on plopping a lot of them down in front of her, for her to "have a taste of home" despite the squalor of their current conditions.

Aveline scowled, wondering how Garrett had managed to hear of the recent import. No huge leap to consider he was taking on more jobs independent of Meeran's orders. Funny, the things you heard about when you loitered close enough to the nabobs of the city, she thought. But even if Aveline disregarded the extra work it required of him, the fact Garrett was willing to piss off Meeran by acting outside the control of the Red Iron was worrisome. Garrett might be chafing under the collar the Red Iron put on him when they paid his family's way into Kirkwall, but collar it was and trying to cut himself loose of the thing only invited disaster.

"Beets, Garrett?" Aveline prodded the younger man with a hard knuckle into his shoulder blade, dragging his attention away from the barrel bulging with the red vegetable. She could smell the stink of the things from her lofty position over the barrel and from behind Garrett's broad chest, no less. Aveline dragged a breath in through her mouth to avoid the smell. Garrett lifted an eyebrow at her from over his shoulder.

"Not asking you to eat them, Aveline." Garrett shrugged. It was Carver who snorted loudly, his mouth twisted into a tight smile. On the outs with his brother again, Aveline thought. If only because he finally seemed willing to toss some caustic opinion into the exchange, when he'd been so quiet during their march down to the docks this morning. And of course it had to be something to do with Garrett, after he'd so pointedly ignored him the entire while. But perhaps whatever bother was niggling at Carver's sensibilities also hinted at whatever task of Garrett's netted him the knowledge of the beets being off-loaded on the docks today.

Carver scoffed, "Mother will, though. She'll soak them in pickling juice, so you can take some of them with you – in the field, on a job, wherever. She'll even singsong you into guiltily consuming them, if only to avoid hurting her feelings. Then you'll be out and about, with your chin all stained with pickled beet juice, and everyone will laugh their heads off."

Garrett's lip twisted into something approximating a sardonic smile. Aveline bit back a sigh, if only because she thought Garrett's smiles were such rare things. He seemed eternally busy, rather. Like he simply had no time for anything like a smile, let alone a laugh. She'd never met a more serious-natured man than Garrett, as if weighed down constantly by unceasing demands and obligation. But for now he twisted a small smile at his brother, "Ah, the voice of experience finally adds itself to the morning's adventure."

Carver looked away, out over the glint of sunlight flashing over the harbor's waters. "That the sum total of my experience seems to be following you around and maybe lunching on mother's beet preserves is hardly worth considering, today. I would've managed better winning the position with the city guard, than remaining a damn beet hunter on the Kirkwall docks. Damn it, Garrett …" Carver spun on a booted heal to go stomping off towards a nearby wall, where he slumped angrily. Aveline watched him drop his head, so that the dark tendrils of his hair fell down to obscure his eyes. The brothers looked so damn much alike - all thick, black hair, skin that tanned well under Kirkwall's coastal sun, and narrow, brilliant blue eyes. Hardly like their mother, except for the eyes. Leandra only once spoke of it, sitting down in the hull of the ship that carried them all to Kirkwall nearly a year ago, her tone meandering and sad, "They're both the image of my Malcolm. He would tell me, it proved his blood ran that strong in them." But Carver was obviously the younger of the pair, with the soft bent of his chin that barely sported the briefest hint of facial hair.

Garrett's own chin seemed perpetually dark with shadow, actually, no matter how often he shaved. And his jaw seemed granite hard and always clenched, like now. His lips thinned again as he watched Carver from out of another speculative gaze. That Garrett was exceedingly intelligent was obvious and he made little effort to hide it, said he wanted the idiots who chanced to confront him to know he'd outwit them at every chance. No one's fool, Garrett said of himself. Which was probably why it startled Aveline when he sighed, "And there you have it. My brother is going to hold it over my damn head, what a right mess I've made of things this time. Doesn't that figure, to be my fortune, heh?"

"Would this have something to do with you knowing beets were part of the day's load here on the docks?" Aveline queried, worry weighing her words and Garrett shifted his gaze towards her. Not for the first time Aveline considered how fine a man Garrett looked, even after you considered his utterly serious nature. His frame was smooth and fit, with a broad chest a woman could lay across in comfortable pleasure and shoulders that held up leathered armor pieces in splendorous shape which promised protection and strength. Hard to believe he was a mage, even with the long handle of supposed spear that he tucked into the harness on his back, its bladed edge shining a bright threat. No, Garrett looked like a warrior of old, rather, like someone you'd meet across the length of battlefield and know your fight was going to be long and hard.

"Only you would think beets could get me into trouble, Aveline."

"Stranger things have gotten men into trouble, than a shipload of beets." Aveline sighed, "You and Carver are family to me, Garrett. Strange to think that, but there it is. You were there when I lost Wesley, the only ones who saw him at his very best, with me. That won't change, not even when I accept the posting that Carver's so apparently lost."

Garrett sighed heavily, "Oh, he'll just love _that_. Just more proof that it's being my own brother that kept him from the thing, than that he's a Fereldan, rather. Almost a year since we ran from home and with the end of our debt just in sight now, and he only sees it as a chance to finally get away from me. Like I'm chaining him in place, somehow."

Aveline frowned, "Meeran still has a claim on you, Garrett. I'd worry more about pissing him off, than whatever's got Carver sulking yet again. What's going on?"

He shrugged a single shoulder, and the creaking sound of his staff's harness crackled in the air. There was a small snap on the buckle that held the thing in place, allowing Garrett quick access to the weapon. And weapon it was, really. The last thing Garrett relied on was his magic, something he said no mage should ever rely on to the extent they lacked martial abilities. He used that bladed spear of his with lethal force, swinging it with smooth rhythm, almost a singing dance of gorgeous precision and motion that usually resulted in someone bad losing a limb. Or worse. Aveline thought Garrett attractive normally, but she thought he was absolutely beautiful in a fight. Now Garrett explained firmly, "Took on some extra jobs for the Seneschal. Small tasks, is all. I don't have name enough to trouble anyone's politics, mind you, and the need for discretion kept it from Meeran's notice."

"But …?"

Garrett flushed. Aveline's eyes widened watching the color bloom on her friend's face, so unfamiliar an expression. Garrett was always strongly certain, to the point some people considered him arrogant. Or stand-offish, at least. Not that he wasn't, either. Garrett always seemed to have a healthy respect for his own personal space, kept much of his thoughts and feelings all locked away behind a strong, silent stony face. Aveline simply couldn't recall seeing real embarrassment cross his features, and she stood there practically gaping at him, now. Just watching the color flash across his high cheekbones and then spread down until his throat was as brightly red as those beets floating in the barrel. "Well … The Seneschal and I …" Aveline started, stiffening with her own embarrassment, even. Damn it. Aveline knew her own features turned some maker-cursed splotchy color whenever she was embarrassed, and the heat she felt on her skin was testament to how terrible she imagined she looked right then.

It wasn't like Garrett flaunted his inclinations, anyway. "Why would I be like anyone else, go about finding some woman worth calling attractive and settle down to give my mother a bevy of little grandbabies? Bad enough I have magic trilling through my veins, mind you. Might as well call me utterly strange, in this, too," Garrett told her once. Right after she rudely barged into some Lowtown brothel looking for him, watched his dark head jerk up from the tangle of naked man he was curled around on that threadbare mattress. Not her fondest memory, either, considering how she blushed and stammered through the most atrocious apologies and knew she'd hurt him for the shock she suffered right then. He'd certainly not remarked on it ever since, either.

Now Garrett shrugged, "So of course the Seneschal's been giving us some minor tasks to earn extra gold on occasion. Happened to mention a new ship was docking today, too. But couldn't have the brother of some man he'd given so much _personal_ attention to, a position in the City Guard. Looks bad, you know." Garrett glanced sideways at Aveline, lifting his strong chin. He'd only recently celebrated another naming day, marking the first quarter of his life. Younger than Aveline herself, only twenty-five, and she still thought him purely exceptional. And not for anything of the magic she knew Garrett hid so well out of sight. He smiled wryly, "I'm glad to hear you managed to nab a position for yourself, though, Aveline. You'll do fine work, I have no doubt."

Aveline frowned, "Carver's pissed at you for sleeping with the Seneschal?"

Garrett lifted an eyebrow, "You think Carver should be … what, pleased? That he was denied that much a chance, only because of who I was sleeping with? Even broke it off with Bran, mind you. Pretty sure that made things even worse, actually. Considering Bran was rather … offended, I mean." Garrett frowned as he dropped his gaze towards the ground, contemplating. Aveline shifted her weight from one side to another, watching him. Not that she was surprised someone of such standing would notice Garrett, seek out his attentions, even. Fereldan he might be, but his Marcher birthright was noble enough, too, what with the name Amell attached to him.

Of course Seneschal Bran heard the rumors, how Garrett's name was bandied about more and more, the rising status of Meeran's Red Iron mercenaries that came after Garrett joined their ranks – Hawke is all they called him, like he didn't have some personal name of his own, or like his name was some symbolic thing in and of itself. Although Garrett's rising reputation did nothing to improve his relationship with Carver, either. If only because when they said Hawke, they never meant Carver. Aveline frowned over at the younger brother, wishing he could see what it did to Garrett, when he turned from him, when he snorted and stomped his feet angrily. How alone it seemed to leave Garrett feeling, how much stronger that stony expression grew on his face.

Garrett straightened, stiffening his shoulders as he waved over towards Carver now. "So I bought the barrel, Carver. Think you can actually grab it up? Or do we plan on sitting here all day, bitching at each other?"

Carver jerked himself up, stalking back in their direction with telling temper. "I'm not your damn Mabari pup!"

"Why wouldn't I think so, when you're whining that clearly?"

Carver narrowed his eyes, his fingers tightening into fists against his sides. But he wisely bit his tongue. Aveline figured the effort was painful as shit, considering how tight his closed mouth looked as Carver bent over in a sudden shot and gripped that small barrel of beets in both hands. Carver bit out, "On top of everything else, we'll be eating beets for a solid month. Our damn shit will be beet-red before it's done. Thanks for that, mind you."

"Yes, I was only thinking of your shit when I decided to come down here to the docks this morning," Garrett remarked, not looking at his brother as Carver spun around and went marching off towards the Lowtown neighborhood where their uncle, Gamlen, made his home. Aveline paused, watching Garrett for another long moment, watched his frozen expression, the hard edge of his jaw as he stayed turned from them both to stare out over the waters in the harbor.

He was back to grinding his teeth.


End file.
